I Should've Known Better
by Geeky Trenchcoat in the Impala
Summary: John Lennon used to believe his life was just one big game of 'Love Em and Leave Em'. That is, until that rainy day in May when he met Cassie Marsala. She left him with two words left to say: "...Now what?"
1. Prologue: Misery

**A/N: Soooooooooo, this is my first fic to be posted on FanFiction, (A DAY THAT WILL LIVE IN INFAMY! WRITE THIS DOWN IN YOUR HISTORY BOOKS, PEOPLE! SAVOR THIS MOMENT! ... Kidding. Don't do that. XD) and I'm super excited! This is dedicated to my bestie Rachel for being super encouraging and helpful in proofreading, and to michelleandjulia for being so welcoming! Enjoy everybody! R & R!**

**~Ellie**

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><p>John leaned his head against the rough cement wall of an old, run-down floral shop. He watched as rain fell softly from the sky and landed all around him. <em>Plink, plonk, plunk...<em> it whispered to him, each individual drop singing its own song. One very cheeky raindrop landed in his eye.  
>"Aghh! Dammit!" John barked, rubbing violently at his face. Suddenly, he registered that he was soaked to the bone. Did everything in his world have to go wrong today? He kicked the wall behind him, as if abusing it would make all his troubles disappear. "Take that!" he growled, "Bloody life.. Aw, ta hell with it all! What good am I doing here anyways?" Bracing himself against the wall he rested his head on it and cursed himself. It was all his fault. Every last part of this damned situation was his fault, and there was nothing he could do about it. He wondered to himself. What if he had never stumbled into that field that rainy afternoon in May? What if he had never met- ... but he had. He couldn't change the past. He'd destroyed every chance he had left, and now his mates hated his guts. "Gear. Just gear. Well done, Johnny. Yeh've ruined everything yeh've ever dreamed about. Forever. Let's have some applause, eh?" He looked up and glanced around himself as if almost truly anticipating someone to step out from the cover of the nearby trees and begin clapping for his horrible mistakes. Chuckling darkly, he muttered, "Where are the fans when yeh actually need 'em?"<p> 


	2. Chapter 1: Run For Your Life

**A/N: Hi, hi, hi! So, last time, my prolouge was really short... so is this. XD I promise longer chappies as soon as I can get more time to work on them! For now, enjoy Chapter Ono... err, I mean... One! XD**

_P.S. Mucho Thankso (Bad Spanish... deal with it. XD) to Victoria Harrison, EllieJellythemusicgirl (aka Other Empress Ellie), and michelleandjulia for their reviews and encouragement! Also to my bestie Rache for poking me with a virtual stick and saying "FINISH THE STORY!". And I promise I'm going to put you in the story Rache... just not till next chapter. :D Thanks a bunch guys!_

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><p>John ran. Not that it was out of the ordinary. In fact, he spent a good deal of his time running from demented fans. So John was used to running. But this was different. This time, there was no Paul, George, and Ringo panting alongside him. No police precinct there to guard them. No Mal jogging behind them to ward off anyone who managed to make it past the Bobbies. No Neil waiting for them just around the block with their car. This time, he had no defense. So all he could do was run.<br>How he had gotten himself into this situation he was barely even sure; it had just happened so fast. He and Paul had slipped out the back door of the studio for a quick smoke and some fresh air to clear their minds before they returned to brainstorming song-ideas for their newest album "A Hard Day's Night". It turned out to be a HUGE mistake. The second they set foot outside the studio, they were ambushed by hordes of hysterical, screaming girls. In a fit of panic, they split, running as fast as their feet could carry them. Somewhere along the way and amid the blood-curdling screams, John lost sight of Paul. He kept running, muttering a near-silent apology to his mate as he supposedly left him behind. He could only hope Paul had made it somewhere safe, or was back at the studio waiting for him to escape the army of frantic girls.  
>Feeling himself tiring, John began to wonder if he could, in fact, escape this catastrophe. Just as his muscles started screaming at him to either lower the pace or <em>EXPLODE, <em>he saw his way out. "SWEET RELIEF!" he cried out, his voice drowning in the screaming behind him. He had run so far, he didn't recognize his surroundings, but he did recognize a safe-haven when it was smack in front of his eyes. His escape route came in the form of a nearby rickety, old diner. He pumped his legs as fast as he could, gaining several more meters on the girls, and slammed open the diner door with his side. Dashing inside and gasping for air, he became suddenly aware that the shocked stares of customers and staff alike were directed solely at him. He grinned cornily and exclaimed "Wicked heat out today, eh?"


	3. Chapter 2: Help!

**A/N: Hey Guys! So since I finally finished Chapter One and posted it, I suddenly found myself in the flow and suddenly: POOF! Chapter Two was done! And then suddenly, so was Chapter Four... but not Chapter Three... yeeeaaaaahhh, I'll go work on it. XD Anywhattickettoridenow, here's the next chappie! ENJOY, MY FELLOW MONKEYS OF DOOM! BWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA- CAFFCAFFCAFF! BLECH! ... Yeah, never choke on your own spit. XD**

_P.S. Pssssstt... Hey... Hey Rache... yup, you're in this chapter. XD_

_P.P.S. Virtual cookies will be given to any one who can find my secret Beatles album reference in here! Good luck, and happy hunting, peeps! :D_

_P.P.P.S. ... Yeah, I'm gonna shut up now. XD Enjoy!_

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><p>Paul could hardly breathe. He had been running so hard his lungs felt like they were going to burst, and the heels of his feet stung from the force of the cement below him slapping harshly against his boots. He made a mental note to himself to find a more comfortable pair of shoes soon, in case he should need to run such a long period of time again. Perhaps a pair with less rigid and painful soles; maybe rubber? He glanced over his shoulder and swore under his breath. Those girls just weren't giving up! He turned away and thrust his head down on his collarbone, trying to gasp in enough air, and pushed himself harder. Seeing an alleyway coming up on his left, he made a snap decision and feinted to the right before flinging himself into the alley. He leaned against a wall and crouched down a few moments as he heard the screams fade out slightly. He sighed with relief. Leaning his head back against the wall behind him he wondered to himself if John had been as lucky as him and had also made it away from the psychotic fan-girls. Knowing John he probably had tricked someone into pretending to be him, and had made it back to the studio, and was impatiently complaining about Paul not having returned also. Well, Lennon could wait this time. Paul closed his eyes and sighed again. He needed to rest after being chased by the insane fans so long.<p>

"They're going to come back, you know." a voice called from above him. Paul's eyes snapped open. He slowly glanced up to see a very pretty girl with sparkling sea-blue eyes, flowing gold-blonde hair, and a disarming smile, hanging down from the roof of the building he was leaning on. "Eventually they'll realize you didn't run all the way to Blackpool and turn around to find you." Paul stared warily at the girl. "What?" she asked, "Are you afraid I'm going to start screaming and chasing you as well? Sorry buddy, but I'm a Georgie Girl." she winked. Paul rubbed his eyes and winced as he attempted to stand up. All that running not only wore out his feet, but his thighs and calves as well.

"Well, if you're not goin' ta chase me, would you mind tellin' me your name, and why you're sittin' up on that roof, miss?" Paul inquired, raising a curious eyebrow.

"That depends. Are you going to make fun of my reasons for sitting here?" the girl looked down at her lap.

"Nah. That would be rude, don't ya think? I think I'll listen politely. Feel free to confide your soul's very deepest secrets in me, miss. I won't tell, if you don't tell George that I think he's very lucky havin' such a pretty fan." Paul flashed the girl one of his famous winks. She giggled and then sighed.

"C'mon up then, and I'll explain." she pointed to a rusted ladder trailing up the side of the wall. Paul grabbed on to it and hoisted himself up. He stood on the roof for a moment and looked around him. He looked at the blonde and she patted the ground next to her, motioning him to sit down. He did as he was told, folding his hands in his lap, with a patient and curious facial expression.

"Alright. My name's Rachel. Rachel Winters. And I sit up here because it's peaceful. I can see everything that goes on in people's lives while they're on this road without them knowing. And also... Well, I kinda have nowhere else to spend my time. I'm an orphan, see? And I was sent over here from America to stay with an uncle five years ago. But about a year ago he died. He left me everything... But he had gambling debts. So they sold his house and most of his possesions. Before they could kick me out though, I did manage to grab some money. So at least I'm not broke." Paul's eyes were wide as saucers. He gaped at her.

"Is th-that all true?" he gasped. Rachel rolled her eyes.

"No, I just made it up on the spot to freak you out. YES, it's all true!"

"But... Don't you have anywhere to stay? You live up here?"

"Oh! No, not at all." the girl shook her head. "I stay with a close friend who doesn't mind having me around. She's always busy though, so I still end up alone most of the time. And that's why I come up here." Rachel made a face. "And there's my Lonely, Depressing Story of Doom and Gloom. Please, hold your applause!" The moptopped heart throb studied her face for a moment.

"I do believe I have a solution to your loneliness, miss."

"And what's that?"

"Come with me back to the studio."

"... W-what?"


	4. Chapter 4: I Saw Her Standing There

**A/N: This is just a quick update. I wanted to get something up for John's Birthday. We Love you John! I aplogize for making you seem all weird and sappy in this chapter, but it was neccesary to the plot line. I hope you're having fun up there, jamming out with George and all the angels. We're still trying for the dream of World Peace you imagined, Johnny. RIP.**

_**P.S. Virtual Cookies to whoever finds the Beatles Album reference in this chapter. Happy hunting!**_

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><p>John sat down at a table, panting. Leaning his head against the back of his booth, he sat still trying to clear the loud buzzing echo of screaming out of his head. He clutched his sides and breathed deeply, filling his lungs with much needed air. He didn't know how long he sat there. It could've been mere minutes, or even hours. However long it was, after a good deal of time a short, balding man in his mid-fifties sauntered up to John and tapped him on the shoulder. John's eyes flashed open and as he turned to face the man, the man spoke.<p>

"C'n I get ye anythin', laddie, or are ye just takin' a breather from runnin' away from them there lassies?" the man said, a heavy Scottish accent weighing down his words. He gestured towards the door with a meaty fist, and John glanced over and suddenly it hit him: the echoey buzzing wasn't an echo at all. There, pounding away at the diner's locked door, were screaming fan-girls galore. John glared down at the bright orange laminate tabletop and muttered darkly to himself.

"They just don't give up do they?" The Scottish man chuckled heartily.

"Women never do, laddie, I c'n tell ye that. Don't ye be worrin' tho'. I locked that there door on them lassies when ye came in. Don't want 'em maulin' no one on me property, eh? I'd say tho' if ye be wantin' to escape 'em soon, ye might want ter make a head start through th' back door, once ye regain yer strength."

Glancing at his watch, John realized the man was right. He HAD been sitting there for hours. It was getting late, and he needed to get back to the studio soon. Brian and the rest of the lads would be worried sick, that is, if Paul were there and not left for dead in an abandoned alleyway by some rabid fan-girl. John shook his head. That wouldn't be likely. The girl probably would've taken Paul's body home; had him dressed up like some sick toy doll. John shivered at the very thought. Poor Paul.

"Laddie? Ye still alive there?" The sound of the man's voice snapped John out of his gruesome daydream. He looked at the man and smiled his craziest smile.

"Sir, yes, sir!" he spoke with a harsh American accent. "I'll be on my way, sir, thank you, sir!" He stood up and marched towards the hallway two bright yellow and orange tables down from him, only getting a glimpse of the plump man rolling his eyes.

"Hold, Seargent!" the man commanded, playing along. "Seargent- what is yer name anyways, lad?"

John glanced around him for some inspiration. His eyes settling on a pair of salt and pepper shakers at a nearby table he shouted out,

"Pepper, sir!"

"Well, Seargent Pepper!" the man barked back.

"Sir, yes, sir!"

"Th' door s'in th' OTHER direction!" John spun around, and there, indeed, across the room from him, stood the door.

"So it is, sir, thank you, sir!"

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><p>John had been walking for several minutes, and he was still out in the country, not sure exactly where he was. He shoved his hands in his pockets and breathed in the humid air. Throwing a glance toward the sky he noted the dark grey clouds blocking the evening sun. This could mean only one thing. He sighed. Rain, rain, and OOOH YIPPEE! more rain. He sang quietly to himself under his breath.<p>

"But tommorrow may rain, so I'll follow the sun..." Glancing down at the dirt path, he noticed the darker spots where raindrops had begun to fall. He looked back up and watched raindrops falling from the charcoal sky. He felt a light sprinkle on his arms, and turned down to see the dark spots appearing on his blue cotton shirt. He sighed again. As if sensing his melancholy and thriving off it, the rain picked up, and started to fall in earnest. John truged on through the now muddy roads and attempted to shake his soaked moptop out of his eyes. It didn't work. The hair remained plastered to his face. He was stomping along like this, battling with his hair when he heard it. A faint voice, singing.

_The hills are alive with the sound of music,_

John stopped in his tracks.

_With songs they have sung for a thousand years._

He felt a strange urge, like someone was tugging on his collar, like a Siren, pulling him towards her beautiful voice. He put it down simply to his musicianship, curious to know who was making such beautiful noise, so he could pay proper homage to his fellow singer. He shook it off and resumed walking.

_The hills fill my heart with the sound of music,_

_My heart wants to sing every song it hears._

He jerked short again. This ran deeper than musicianship and curiosity. He NEEDED to know who was singing. He gathered his dignity about him and followed the sound bouncing around his brain. Pushing his way through the soggy, calf-high field bordering the dirt path.

_My heart wants to beat like the wings of the birds_

_that rise from the lake to the trees,_

_He was stumbling now, stumbling towards that voice, that wonderful voice._

_My heart wants to sigh like a chime that flies_

_from a church on a breeze._

It got closer and closer. It was almost as if he could reach out and touch the notes the voice was singing, but not see the voice, he couldn't see it, and it frustrated him. He HAD to find the voice.

_To laugh like a brook when it trips and falls over_

_stones on its way,_

_To sing through the night like a lark who is learning to pray_.

He burst into a clearing, looking down at his feet to avoid stumbling any harder.

_I go to the hills when my heart is lonely,_

_I know I will hear what I've heard before._

The voice echoed in his brain, as if the word were ingraved inside his mind.

_My heart will be blessed with the sound of music,_

He looked up...

_And I'll sing once more._

And there she was.


End file.
